Double Review: Sufjan Stevens – The Age of Adz, and of Montreal – Sunlandic Twins

I recently picked up both my first of Montreal album (“The Sunlandic Twins,” from 2004) and my first Sufjan Stevens Album (last year’s “The Age of Adz”), and they make a curious matched pair.  Both bands really feel like solo projects; of Montreal is the brainchild of Kevin Barnes, and Sufjan Stevens is, well … Sufjan Stevens.  Barnes and Stevens both have been putting out indie pop albums for long before I was aware of either of them.

These two albums have a great deal in common.  Instrumentation on both is very synth-heavy, and both rely heavily on multi-tracked vocals.  Yet, these two albums travel in quite different directions.  “The Sunlandic Twins” is a very chipper, danceable album with a lot of very catchy melodies.  The vocals placed very far forward in the mix, bringing the lyrics to the forefront.  Fortunately, the lyrics are clever, occasionally delving into the sort of vivid scenery-painting I usually associate with acts like Donovan.  “Oslo in the Summertime,” which sets very vividly descriptive lyrics over a sweltering bass line, leaves very distinct images in my head.

The straightforward pop songwriting is broken up periodically with instrumental interludes.  Some of these instrumentals, like “October is Eternal,” can be quite angular and avant-garde.  Yet, as experimental as the album sometimes tries to be, it never strays too far from accessible dance pop traditions.  Most of the album is built on simple repeating quarter notes in the baseline, and I even hear a little disco in some of the guitar parts.  Some songs, like the earworm (and occasional Outback Steakhouse jingle) “Wraith Pinned to the Mist And Other Games,” are little more than vocals, drums, and a bass line.

Even at its most extreme, “The Sunlandic Twins” seems tame next to “The Age of Adz.” Stevens’ album starts with a fairly accessible guitar ballad, but quickly departs for psychedelic and orchestral points unknown.  Swirling woodwinds and emphatic low brass permeate the album, punctuated with asymmetric, and often uncomfortable, synthesized rhythms.  The way these disparate sounds are layered upon each other really reminds me of some late Beatles songs, like “Strawberry Fields Forever.”

The orchestration on this album is not the only symphonic aspect of this album.  The album culminates in “Impossible Soul,” a massive Beethovenian twenty-six minute chorale of a last movement that is as grand and orchestral as anything you will find in popular music.    This scope can be something of a mixed blessing – many of the songs meander, and I even found myself dozing off during the first half of the album during my first listen.  Even “Impossible Soul” overstays its welcome, with a musical “cleansing of the Shire” that drags on for three minutes after the logical conclusion of the piece.  Still, the second disc is surprisingly entrancing, with “Vesuvius” and “I Want to Be Well” on the C-side as the standout tracks on the album.

Both of these albums have spent a large amount of time on my turntable since I acquired them, and each has lodged songs in my head.  While the of Montreal album is certainly a lot of fun to listen to, I find it’s the thick baroque textures of “The Age of Adz” that keeps calling me back again and again.

Concert Review: The Benny Green Trio at Blues Alley.

The cabbie couldn’t find Blues Alley, even after I gave him the street address. The meter ticked over to an even seven dollars as he scanned the street for the venue. I handed him the seven and let myself out of the cab. “I’m sure I can find it from here.”
I had the address written on a notepad from my hotel. Based on the numbers on the storefronts, this had to be the right block. I began to walk back up the street. A thin, black ribbon of an alley opened up between two buildings, and as I passed it, I spied an unlit, painted sign back in the inky depths. Blues Alley. I should have known.
The club itself was just as dark. Round tables surrounded the small stage, with the unadorned brick walls just visible in the gloom.  The single tea-light candles flickering on each table provided just enough light to read the menu. I ordered an old-fashioned and an entree, and settled in.
The Benny Green trio took the stage right at eight. The pianist Benny Green was joined by Kenny Washington on drums and Peter Washington on bass. The three of them launched into a excellent set, built primarily out of Thelonius Monk tunes.
Benny Green is one of the most energetic pianists I’ve ever seen live. During his athletic solos, he would stand up from his bench, twisting and contorting with the music as if physically wrestling it into form. His fingers would fire down from were he stood to stab unergonomic clusters of chords into the keyboard. He hadn’t finished his first song before he had knocked his piano bench back off the edge of the stage in his exuberance.
The Washingtons held their own, too. Peter, in particular, gave several impressive bass solos. Yet, as good as the other two performers were, Green still seemed to stay in the spotlight even when he wasn’t playing. When Peter or Kenny had their own solos, Green’s shouts and gesticulations of encouragement (or adjustments of his oft-traveling piano bench) still pulled my attention back to him. Still, the trio seemed to have decent chemistry together, and the Washingtons handled Green’s spotlight-stealing gamely.
Bebop is a very intimate form of jazz, so catching this act at a club as intimate as Blues Alley was perhaps the best way to see them. All the tables were close to the stage, and Green even shook my hand on his way past my table after the set.  All in all, I really enjoyed this performance.  And also the French onion soup.